


Fool for Lesser Things

by cyranothe2nd



Category: Downton Abbey, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, M/M, Non-Canonical Character Death, Romance, Tumblr Prompt, Worldbuilding, blood status bigotry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2513921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyranothe2nd/pseuds/cyranothe2nd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thomas is invited to the wedding of an old school friend from Hogwarts, he must choose between his budding relationship with Jimmy and a life in the Wizarding world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flippyspoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippyspoon/gifts).



> This fic is a response to [Flippyspoon’s prompt](%E2%80%9D) that asked for “Thomas as a Muggleborn Slytherin.” However, this went in a direction that I did not really expect. I tried to maintain the canon of both series as much as possible, but I’m sure I’ve missed something. Finally, this fic was written over a weekend and is unbetaed. All mistakes are my own.

The owl came on a Wednesday afternoon in February.

“Is that an owl at your window?” Jimmy had asked.

 Jimmy had swapped his half-day with Daisy, hoping to drag Thomas to Ripon to see the latest Buck Jones western. However, it had started drizzling just after breakfast and the day had turned so dismal that Thomas had persuaded Jimmy off the film. Now, they were ensconced in Thomas’ room—Thomas sitting on his bed and Jimmy in Thomas’ desk chair, a card game lying on the small table between them.

There was another tapping at the window, this time more preemptory and Thomas, who’d been hoping to ignore the bloody bird, turned his head to acknowledge that yes, indeed it was an owl. A tawny, to be precise, with enormous black eyes that stared at Thomas disapprovingly. The owl shook the letter in its beak. Thomas could see the wax seal that nearly covered the back side of the envelope through the windowpane and, with a sinking heart, he opened the sash and let the bird inside. The tawny dropped the letter into Thomas’ waiting hand, gave him a sharp bite on the index finger as retaliation for the wait and launched itself back into the rainy sky.

Thomas closed the window and turned the envelope over in his hand, tracing a thumb over the raised seal of the House of Black.

Jimmy, who had stayed silent up to this point, said, “Well, are you going to open it or stare at it?”

Thomas glanced up, surprised that Jimmy wasn’t nonplussed by the idea of owl post. But then again, pigeons had been used frequently during the war, so perhaps it wasn’t as strange as it could have been.

Thomas ran his thumb across the seal again, trying to decide. It was doubtful Arcturus would send him a Howler, even with the way they’d left things. Still, he wasn’t entirely sure what the letter would contain.

“I--” Thomas started, then stopped. Jimmy’s open, curious expression turned something over in Thomas’ chest and, damning himself for a fool, he slid a finger beneath the envelope flap, broke the seal and pulled out a note on heavy cardstock.

_To Thomas Barrow,_

_Trolus and Callidora Macmillian request the honour of your presence at the joining of their daughter, Melania Macmillian, in marriage to Arcturus Black, son of Sirius and Hesper Black, on Sunday, February 27, 1921 at 2 pm at Rose Court, London._

Underneath was a watermark of a boar and, on the reverse, in Arcturus’ slap-dash handwriting,

_Thomas, I’d be so pleased if you’d come. –Archie_

“Who’s Archie?” asked Jimmy, who Thomas realized had been reading over his shoulder.

“Never you mind who it is,” Thomas answered immediately. “Are we going to finish this game or shall you just pronounce me the winner now?”

“Never,” Jimmy rejoined, sliding back into the desk chair and picking up his cards. He scooped up the nine of spades, discarding a red queen. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, trying distract me with this game. I’ll not be put off so easily.”

“Not you,” Thomas affirmed easily. He slid the wedding invitation back into the envelope and tucked it carefully into the inside pocket of his jacket, hung carelessly over the brass footboard. “He’s…and old friend, from school.”

“From that strange school you went to? The one is Scotland?”

Thomas nodded. He’d not told Jimmy everything, of course. While Thomas didn’t care about the Ministry and all that rot—not after they’d left Muggleborns like him to die in the trenches while protecting purebloods from ever getting a whiff of the war—he did care whether Jimmy thought he was a nutter, and so he’d told Jimmy only an expurgated version of his time at Hogwarts.

“So, are you going?” Jimmy said, discarding another face card.

“Hmmm,” Thomas hummed, examining his own hand.

“To the wedding,” Jimmy clarified in an aggrieved voice. “Are you going to Archie’s wedding?”

“I don’t know why you have to say his name like that,” Thomas complained. “He’s nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t he?” His hand slip across the table and gripped Thomas by the wrist. Thomas slid his wrist from Jimmy’s too-tight grip and twined Jimmy’s fingers in his own.

“Don’t be daft,” he said firmly, meeting Jimmy’s gaze. He let a bit of the fondness he felt come out in his expression. Jimmy rarely touched him during the day, even when they were alone, as they were now. He was too aware of the way that Mr. Carson watched them; his concerned eyes seemed to follow them everywhere. ‘Honestly, does he think you’re going to throw me down and have your way with me?’ Jimmy had asked after one of Carson’s piercing stares had landed on the two of them smoking in the courtyard. _Do you?_ Thomas had wanted to ask, then, still worried that Jimmy thought him some sort of predator. He’d been so blinded by his own shame and hopeless love that he hadn’t seen that Jimmy was beginning to feel the same way until the day—much like today—when Jimmy had reached across Thomas’ little wooden table and laid his trembling fingers across Thomas’ wrist and said his name in a low tone.

Now, Thomas let some of his joy and amazement show on his face, and watched as Jimmy’s lovely mouth melted into a smile.

“Right then, Mr. Barrow,” he said in a teasing tone. “Don’t you forget where you belong.”

_With you,_ Thomas thought fiercely. _Only and ever with you._

~*~

 

 

The owl wasn’t the end of it.

 Of course it wasn’t. What Arcturus Black wanted, Arcturus Black usually got, and he badly wanted Thomas at his sham of a wedding for some reason or other. After a week had passed with no answer from Thomas, Arcturus’ head appeared in the fire in Lord Grantham’s study.

Luckily, the room was unoccupied at the time, Thomas clearing up after his Lordship’s tea and quite alone. “Barrow, how lovely to see you,” Arcturus drawled from the green flames.

Thomas nearly dropped the porcelain he was holding in surprise.

“You’re looking well,” Arcturus went on, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to appear in the fire at a Muggle house.

“What are you doing?” Thomas hissed, abandoning all propriety at Arcturus’ casual tone. He’d broken his wand over ten years ago with the intention of never setting foot in the Wizarding world again. He’d be damned if he’d let Archie Black push him back into it. Or, worse, expose him to his colleagues and employers.

“Oh come now, Barrow. Surely you still know how to use a Silencing Charm? Cast one now and I’ll come through.”

“You can’t come through,” Thomas protested weakly. “We aren’t on the Floo network.”

“Tosh,” Arcturus said, waving a hand so that the fire jumped and snapped. “It’s easy enough to patch you in.” It wasn’t, actually. Thomas knew that. It was difficult and quite possibly illegal.

“I want to speak with you,” Arcturus concluded quietly.

Thomas pursed his lips and waved a hand, casting a wordless Silencing charm and then a quick Locking spell on the door, just to be safe. Arcturus was already standing up from the fire, dusting the cinders from his well-tailored robes, when Thomas finished.

“You always were ace at wandless magic,” he said, running a hand through his messy black curls. His hair fell perfectly over his forehead, as it always did, framing his sharp cheekbones and warm hazel eyes. “Or do you still have your wand?”

Thomas lifted his chin, deciding deliberately not to invite Archie to sit. “You work at the Ministry. You know I don’t.”

Arcturus lifted one side of his mouth in the wry smile that used to drive Thomas to distraction in his sixth year. “Yes, well, you could have got one and not registered it, couldn’t you?”

“You mean the way you connected Downton to the Floo Network just now?” Thomas mildly replied. “I wonder what old Grizz Gelder would think of that?”

Arcturus shrugged. “You _are_ out of touch. Minister Gelder is on his way out,” he said serenely, pulling out his Lordship’s leather wingback and sitting down. “And I run the Department of Mysteries now.”

 Thomas gritted his teeth at Black’s intrusion and came to stand at the other side of Lord Grantham’s large, mahogany desk. It was a brilliant move—a very Slytherin move—to put Thomas on the supplicant’s end of the desk. Thomas paused for a moment, facing other man, before very deliberately stepping to the side of the desk and leaning against it. This way, he was standing too close to Arcturus, but at least he wasn’t in a subordinate position.

Arcturus’ mouth twisted in that wry smile again, and he nodded at Thomas’ choice of position approvingly. Merlin, it had been years since Thomas had had a properly cunning opponent with whom to do battle. And, whatever else Archie had been to Thomas, he had always been a cunning opponent.

“This is all very interesting, Black, but I do have work to do.”

“Do you? Menial labor?” Arcturus smiled to take the sting out of his words. “Thomas, I do know what Muggle house elves look like. I’m sure such work is gratifying, in its way. But, you were a talented wizard; top of our class at History, if I recall.” Arcturus’ voice was warm and forthright, a talent that Thomas had always envied. Arcturus had always had a way of seeming utterly sincere, even—and perhaps especially—when he was manipulating his listener. It was a talent that stood him in good stead at Hogwarts, where he’d been adored by teachers and students alike. Even the more suspicious Slytherins had respected and looked up to Archie Black. It had been clear, even then, that Arcturus was on his way into the Minister’s position.

Thomas had been blinded by Arcturus’ true nature back them. Or perhaps he didn’t care. He remembered a time in 5th year when Archie had taken an interested in Lonnie Lovegood, a 6th year Ravenclaw, blond, watery-eyed and awkward, but brilliant at potions. Lonnie had worshipfully tutored Archie in potions for months. Until Archie had earned an E on his potion’s OWL and no longer needed him. Thomas still remembered the boy’s devastated expression when he was denied entry into the Slytherin commonroom, where they’d been conducting their lessons. Thomas had laughed at him; they all had. Archie had just smiled ruefully and said, “The more fool him, poor boy.”

Arcturus leaned forward now, putting a warm hand on Thomas’ arm. “I know you were maltreated. That was unfair. But if you’d just give it another chance, I could show you that not everyone cares about blood status.” The fingers on Thomas’ arm tightened against his sleeve.

“Mr. Barrow, Mr. Carson sent--”

The door crashed open and Thomas jerked around, Arcturus’ hand slipping from his arm as Jimmy entered the room. Jimmy stopped short, his eyes travelling from Arcturus’ hand, still hanging in the air, and Thomas.

“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

Jimmy’s tone was polite enough, but his mouth was set in a flat line. Thomas cursed inwardly. He had been sure that he’d locked the study door.

“No,” Thomas said, talking a few steps away from the desk and towards Jimmy. He held out a placating hand to Jimmy, but hesitated to actually touch him. While Jimmy seemed more comfortable with taking Thomas’ hand sometimes, in the privacy of Thomas’ room, things hadn’t gone beyond that. Thomas was unsure of his welcome, especially when Jimmy’s expression was so cold. “Jimmy, this is Arcturus Black, an old schoolmate. Black, this is James Kent.”

“Charmed,” Arcturus said, coming from around Lord Grantham’s desk to shake Jimmy’s hand. “Well Barrow, your presence here makes much more sense now.” He looked from Thomas to Jimmy, a small smirk on his face. “But please don’t let me keep you from your duties. We will speak later.” With a last, significant look cast at Thomas, Arcturus glided out the door. A few second later, Jimmy startled at the loud crack of Apparition. He cast a sour look in Thomas’ direction.

“Just an old schoolmate, hmmm?”

 

~*~

 

 

The conversation about Arcturus had to wait until that evening, but Jimmy wasn’t deterred. He came to Thomas’ room after supper, throwing a pack of cards down on the table.

“Right,” he said, sinking into his usual chair. “Why on earth did your old schoolmate come all the way to Yorkshire to speak to you? And what was he doing in His Lordship’s study? How did he get here, anyway?”

Thomas had already planned out what he would say, and so he wove as much sincerity into his voice as he could and said, “He was visiting Ripon and walked up to the house. I suppose he just poked around until he found me in Lord Grantham’s study.”

“What does he want?” Jimmy sounded…well, he sounded jealous. It was gratifying, in a way, though Thomas wanted to tell him there was no need. He’d learned his lesson where Archie Black was concerned. He’d once loved Archie, or perhaps he’d been drawn in, as everyone was, by Archie’s brilliance and the compliment of his focused attention. But Archie had abandoned him after Hogwarts, when it had become clear that a connection with a Muggle-born lover could not assist him in his ambitions at the Ministry. He’d left Thomas to weather the storm alone.

“I’m not sure,” Thomas answered truthfully. He took a deep breath and slid his hand across the table to covers Jimmy’s own. Thomas had never initiated contact with Jimmy—not after the disastrous kiss nearly two years ago—and he was uncertain, but Jimmy only leaned forward and brushed him lips over Thomas’. He quickly pulled away, a blush painting his cheeks.

“Don’t say anything,” he said. “Just deal the cards, Mr. Barrow.”

 

~*~

 

“Barrow,” Arcturus greeted, sliding into the seat opposite Thomas.

Thomas was having a drink at the pub in Ripon. He was planning to return to Downton in a few hours, but for now Thomas accepted the fact of Arcturus’ presence with resignation. At least he’d made an effort to blend in this time, trading in his robes for a grey wool suit.

“Aren’t you getting married tomorrow?” Thomas asked in a falsely sweet voice. He might be resigned, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed Arcturus imposing on the life Thomas had so carefully built.

Arcturus waved a hand. “Yes, of course. But the wedding is all Melania’s concern.”

“And she’s not concerned that she’s marrying a lavender?”

Thomas’ cutting tone didn’t seem to pierce Arcturus’ composure in the slightest. “To the contrary, she’s quite content with our arrangement.” Some of Thomas’ surprise must have showed because the other wizard continued, “Ah, you see we purebloods aren’t unenlightened in all things. Melania does not care where I stuff my prick, so long as I do my duty and provide the Blacks and MacMillians with an heir.”

“Not all purebloods are so accepting,” Thomas rejoined, thinking of Septimus Malfoy and the way he’d sneered at Thomas when he’d warned Thomas off dating his heir.

There was no one thing that had driven Thomas away from the Wizarding world. Rather, it had been a series of small things that had culminated in that last insult. Thomas knew that his status as Muggleborn was perceived as a detriment to many, but he had left Hogwarts hopeful that his high marks in Defense and History of Magic might land him a job at the Ministry or some other reputable establishment. However, that was not to be. Instead, Thomas faced rejection after rejection. ‘We do apologize but we don’t think that your background is suitable for this particular job,’ a skinny witch had informed him at Flourish & Blotts. Many prospective employers were less circumspect, outright stating that they would not hire Muggleborns. As months went by without any hint of a change in his circumstances, Thomas had called on his friends for help. But it seemed that all of the goodwill that he’d worked so hard to garner at Hogwarts had melted away.   His Slytherin friends ignoring his owls or firecalls, or outright snubbed him in public. Thomas, who had failed to build strong alliances with those outside his own house, was friendless and desperate. He’d begun to depend more heavily on Arcturus, which had only driven Arcturus away and, in the end, Thomas had been left with nothing.

Septimus Malfoy’s gibe had been yet another reminder that Thomas would never be accepted in the Wizarding world. At least Muggles rejected him only for his proclivities, something he could generally keep to himself. And so Thomas had broken his wand and decided to go into service, a menial occupation that did not tempt him overmuch to use magic.

 In fact, the only time he used magic most days was to tame his unruly hair.

“You’re right,” Arcturus said now, leaning across the table towards Thomas earnestly. “The way that Muggleborns are treated is abominable. But Thomas, things can change. Gelder’s retiring, as I told you; I’m the one people are talking about to replace him.” He smiled, spreading his hands as if he had nothing to do with it. “I’ll need people that I can trust with me when I do.”

“You want me to work for you?” Thomas asked, incredulous. Of all the ways he’d imagined this conversation going, this was not one of them. “At the Ministry?”

“Yes,” Arcturus answered simply. “You’re a talented wizard, Thomas. And I could use your particular set of skills just now.”

“What does that mean?”

Arcturus looked around the full tavern, eyes roving over the boisterous patrons. The noise had muffled their conversation, but now Arcturus drew his wand and cast a quick _Muffliato_.

“I recently reread your thesis,” said the other wizard, “The one you wrote for that new teacher, Binns, in History of Magic.”

“Why in Merlin’s name would you read that?” Honestly, Thomas had not thought of his research project for Binns in years. It had been composed on the subject of an obscure but persistent legend: the stories about Drains. In wizard lore, Drains were Muggles that were immune to magic. It was said that they could see through illusions, shrug off charms, even walk through wards. Most of the stories were simply that—stories, lacking in credible details or supporting proof. But there were rare cases that were well-documented and could not be easily dismissed. In the end, Thomas had concluded that Drains existed, but they were extremely rare.

“Because you were right,” Arcturus said. He leaned towards Thomas again and some of his false sincerity melted away, replaced by the focus intensity that Thomas knew so well. “Drains exist. They are absolutely real.”

Thomas suppressed a shiver at the fervency in Archie’s voice. Unbidden, he was reminded of the night in 6th year when Arcturus had spoken his name in the same low, fervent tone before pressing Thomas down into his bed. Thomas leaned forward, seeing Arcturus’ smooth features superimposed with his boyish smile for just a moment.

“We’ve managed to capture a Drain. We’re holding her in the Ministry presently, to study her power,” Arcturus continued, ignorant of Thomas’ thoughts. “And my sources tell me that the Germans have another. They are out there, Thomas.” In his excitement, Arcturus had reached across the table to clutch Thomas’ wrist. “And they are a danger to us. That’s why I need you back, Thomas.

“Please say you’ll consider it.”

Ten years ago, even five, it would have been all Thomas wanted. But now...

“Please, Thomas.” Arcturus’ hand was warm against Thomas’ skin.

“I—I’ll think on it,” Thomas replied, despising how it came out stammering rather than cool.

“Good,” the other wizard squeezed his wrist one last time and stood, holding Thomas’ eyes for a long moment. “Good.”

 

~*~

 

“Mr. Carson,” Thomas stopped the butler in the hallway. “Might I have a moment?”

Of course Mr. Barrow, but the family will be ringing soon so do make it quick,” Carson replied, motioning Thomas in to his office.

“Yes, Mr. Carson,” Thomas replied, shutting the door behind him. “It won’t take long.”

A few hours later, Thomas was on the train to London.

 It was a short walk from the station to Diagon Alley. Thomas paused on the threshold of The Leaky Cauldron, gazing out into the world he’d left behind more than a decade ago. Very little had changed. A wizard in black robes paused to gaze into a golden storefront window, displaying the latest broomstick. A little further down, a witch dressed in purple crepe was attempting to drag a child from Condor’s Candies, the child squalling for more Canary creams. Several solemn-faced owls stared at the scene from the window of Eeylops Owl Emporium. And there, on the corner, was Thomas’ objective—Whizz Hard Books. It was all heart-stoppingly familiar and Thomas, not one given to sentimentality, still had to press his hand to the wooden frame of the doorway for one long moment before he could step through.

Finally, Thomas crossed from the warmth of The Leaky Cauldron’s interior out into the weak midafternoon sunlight. Two wizards zoomed past on brooms, causing someone behind Thomas to exclaim. Thomas ducked out of their way, a small smile playing on his mouth as he remembered what it felt like to fly. He’d always been rubbish at Quiddich, and unfortunately cricket had never caught on at Hogwarts, but Thomas remembered well enough the freedom of bestriding a broom and launching himself into the sky. For just a moment, Thomas thought he heard someone speak his name, but when he turned to look, he could see only an elderly wizard, pushing into the Leaky.

Thomas crossed the street towards Whizz Hard. The shop window was stuffed full of dusty books; not the best-sellers of Flourish & Blotts, but rare and sometimes dangerous tomes. There were no schoolchildren lingering here, no Hogwarts textbooks or fiction meant to be read and then forgotten. Thomas still possessed many of the books he’d bought there, shrunk down and stored in a tobacco tin in the back of his closet at Downton. The night before, he’d enlarged them and searched for any reference to Drains, Arcturus’ words still ringing in his ears. When he couldn’t find what he needed, he’d determined to come here.

Thomas stepped inside and went immediately to the relevant section. Finding the correct volume was a matter of only a few minutes and he was soon leafing through _Magic and Myths_ to find the passage he remembered. His heart sunk as he read, and then reread, the passage on Drains.

_We’ve managed to capture one,_ Arcturus had said. _To study her power._

Thomas again read: ‘One possible application in the study of Drains and their resistance to magic is the creation of potions, charms and other magical relics made from the Drain’s _vitalis._ Such relics could, theoretically, imbue their user with similar resistance to magic, making the capture of a Drain doubly dangerous, both the danger the Drain itself presents and the danger of those who could benefit from its capture.’

Arcturus’ sudden interest in Drains seemed too coincidental, his finding Thomas now of all times much too convenient. What was Arcturus really after? Would he use Dark magic to steal the power of a Drain? Was he that hungry for power?

A shout from outside interrupted Thomas’ musing.

“A Muggle!” A witch was shouting. “A Muggle in Diagon Alley!”

Thomas shelved the book and moved to the doorway to look out at the commotion on the street. The witch was still screeching, standing over a man on his knees. Several other witches and wizards began to gather around the kneeling man and, as the witch pointed her wand at him, the man’s head turned and Thomas gasped.

“Jimmy.”

Without thought Thomas pushed forward, knocking an old wizard nearly off his feet in his haste to get to Jimmy.

“ _Obliviate_!” The witch shouted.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Jimmy said, standing. “This is all…very strange.”

“ _Obliviate_ ,” the witch tried again. Jimmy was shaking his head, attempting to stand as bodies pressed in around him, voices chattering and Thomas finally fought through to Jimmy’s side.

“It’s all right,” he muttered, then realized that no one could hear him. “It’s all right. I recognize him. I’ll take him out of here and make sure he’s properly obliviated.” He slung an arm around Jimmy’s shoulders, praying he wouldn’t do something stupid like say Thomas’ name.

“Hey now, I don’t think you ought--”a wizard in beige robes objected.

“I’m Muggleborn,” Thomas said loudly, cutting him off. “I know how to take care of these things.” And then, to Jimmy, “Come now, old chap. Let’s go.”

Jimmy finally seemed to comprehend what Thomas was trying to do and he leaned more fully on Thomas’ shoulder, pasting a blank look on his face. Thomas quickly pulled him away, practically frog-marching Jimmy up the street and back over the threshold of The Leaky Cauldron. As soon as they’d entered the warm, low-ceilinged tavern, Jimmy pulled away, turning on Thomas.

“Thomas, what is the bloody hell was all of that?”

“Not here,” Thomas hissed, grabbing Jimmy’s arm and pulling him towards the stairs. He’d taken a room upstairs, planning to return to Downton on the morning train, and now he hustled Jimmy up the stairs and into his room, locking the door behind him. He took a moment to cast a Locking and a Muffling charm on the door before finally turning to Jimmy, who stood staring at Thomas with wide, panicked eyes.

“Thomas?”

Jimmy’s voice was wavering, as if he were on the verge of fainting. Thomas pushed Jimmy’s unresisting body back onto the bed. Jimmy sat down nervelessly. Thomas knelt in front of him.

“Jimmy,” he started in a low voice. “I need you to tell me how you got to be here.”

“I…I followed you. Carson said you were going to London to see your father, but I knew that wasn’t the truth. It was my half day, so I took the early train.  I thought you were going to that pushy bloke’s wedding. But where in blazes is Rose Court?” Jimmy shook his head, laughing a bit hysterically. “I couldn’t find it. I thought I’d lost you. And then…” Jimmy’s hands were shaking. Thomas took them on both of him. “I saw some strange-looking men coming into this tavern. They looked like that Archie, in robes and all, so I followed them in. And then, Thomas they were _walking through the wall._ Just right through, like it wasn’t there. And, when I got closer, I could see that there was a street on the other side and I just kind of…pushed through.”

“You…pushed through?” Thomas echoed, weakly.

“Yes,” Jimmy affirmed. “But Thomas, there were people flying on brooms there. I know it sounds mad, but I saw them.”

“It isn’t mad,” Thomas said. “It’s…”

Jimmy’s eyes found him and they looked lost. “What? What is it, Thomas?”

Thomas took a deep breath. Two choices stood clearly before him. On the one hand, he could Obliviate Jimmy now, send him back home and go to the Ministry, taking all that Arcturus offered—power, prestige, the acceptance of the Wizarding world. On the other, he could tell the truth and perhaps, finally, have Jimmy.

It wasn’t really a choice at all.

“It was magic,” Thomas said.

It took a shorter time to explain that Thomas thought it would. He held nothing back—speaking of his first childhood burst of magic, his Hogwarts letter, his friends in Slytherin and later, their rejection. He even spoke of Arcturus and how Thomas had loved him, or thought he had. And how, finally, he’d realized that the Wizarding world had nothing left to offer him.

“When Arcturus appeared at Downton, I knew he must be desperate. I had to come to London to find out what he was planning.”

“So, you weren’t tempted?” Jimmy asked. By this time, Thomas has moved to sit next to him on the bed. “You didn’t want to come back to your…your magic world, and to Archie?”

Thomas’ brow furrowed. It was so tempting to lie, even now. But instead, he told the utter and honest truth. “There was a part of me that did. I think it always will. Magic is a part of who I am. But I did not want to return to Archie, not ever.” He laughed ruefully. “I think…” he reached out and very carefully brushed his fingertips across Jimmy’s cheek. “I think my heart belongs elsewhere.”

Jimmy smiled, bringing his hand up to caress Thomas’ cheek in turn.

“I was so afraid that you’d left me,” he confessed lowly. “I know…I know I made you wait. But Thomas, I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Thomas’ heart leaped in his chest, but still he said, “Jimmy, you don’t have to--”

Jimmy laid a finger over his lips. “Hush,” he said. He removed his finger and pressed his lips to Thomas.’

 

~*~

 

Much later, Thomas left Jimmy sleeping upstairs and made his way down. Ross Rugal, the barkeep, was just serving dinner, and the fragrant smell of rich beef stew and fresh baked bread made Thomas’ stomach rumble. Thomas made his way to a stool and sat down, ordering tea and a tray to be brought up. He sipped at his tea, waiting for the tray, when a body slid into the stool next to him.

“Ah, here you are,” Arcturus greeted.

Thomas huffed a breath through his nose. “Archie.”

“Thomas, I do hope your presence in London means that you’ve agreed to my offer.”

Thomas lifted the porcelain teacup to his lips, taking a slow sip before setting the cup into the saucer and turning to Arcturus. The other man was still wearing his wedding robes, black with silver embroidery. They made him look grand and imposing, his kindly hazel eyes and curling hair providing a touch of approachability and friendliness.

Thomas met his eyes squarely. “What are you going to do with the Drain you have?” he asked mildly.

“Study her, of course,” Arcturus answered promptly. “Make sure that her power can be countered.”

“Countered how?”

Arcturus smiled thinly. “Drains are dangerous, Thomas. You know that. Steps must be taken. Even when the Drain is someone we know or care for.”

Thomas’ brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

But it was all coming together, and Thomas cursed himself for being so slow-witted, so stupid with longing that he didn’t see it before. Jimmy, walking through his Locking charm. Jimmy, pushing through the barrier into Diagon Alley. Jimmy, shrugging off the shrieking witch’s Obliviate. Jimmy…

Jimmy was a Drain.

“Ah, the knut drops,” Arcturus said, reaching across Thomas to scoop up Thomas’ tea cup. He took a sip and then made a face, “Ugh, terrible stuff,” he said. He set the tea cup back its saucer. “It wasn’t you, really. Well, that was a bonus, of course, but you were never the reason I came to Downton Abbey.”

_Too slow,_ Thomas thought. _I’m always too goddamned slow to see it._

Thomas reached down inside for his magic, cursing himself for not buying a wand in Diagon Alley, but Arcturus was faster. His wand was already unholsted and pointed at Thomas’ chest.

“ _Stupify_ ,” he said.

Darkness erupted across Thomas’ vision and he sagged backward into oblivion.

 

~*~

 

“ _Rennervate_.”

Thomas woke almost at once, attempting to pull himself upright. Arcturus’ hands pushed him back down and Thomas went, still weak from the Stunning spell.

“Steady now,” Archie muttered. “Steady, Thomas.”

“Wha--” Thomas coughed, tried again. “What have you done with Jimmy?”

Arcturus smiled kindly down at him, his hand petting Thomas’ hair back from his forehead. Thomas desperately wanted to cast off Arcturus’ hand, but he more desperately wanted to know if Jimmy was still alive.

“So loyal, Thomas. No, that’s no criticism. Your loyalty was always one of your best features. If you’d not been sorted into Slytherin, you would have made a fine Gryffindor, I think.”

His hand paused and he leaned over Thomas. “I didn’t value your loyalty as much as I should have, Thomas. I do regret that.” Arcturus’ face creased into a frown. “I hope that you will someday understand the choices I’ve had to make to keep us all safe.”

It went over every instinct that Thomas possessed, and yet he turned his face, just a little, into Arcturus’ hand. Arcturus drew a deep breath, his eyelids dipping for a moment, and then he said, “Your Jimmy is quite unharmed.”

_But for how long?_ Thomas thought. He did now allow the thought to show on his face, instead willing his body to relax even further as Arcturus leaned forward until his face was very close to Thomas’. For a terrible moment, Thomas thought Archie might kiss him. But no, he simply felt Arcturus’ warm breath on him for a few seconds before the other man pulled away and stood up from the bed.

Thomas pushed himself up, his head spinning.

“I’ve taken the liberty of securing your train ticket back to Yorkshire.” Arcturus smoothed his hands down his fine robes. “You depart in one hour.”

Thomas nodded numbly.

Arcturus took his leave, secure in the knowledge that he had won. He had Jimmy, alive, held in some unknown place but, if Thomas’ suspicions were correct, he would not be for long. And there was nothing Thomas could do—he had no wand, no friends, no power. Nothing. The crushing weight of his own guilt crashed into Thomas, then. If only he’d never come here. If only he’d told Jimmy the truth, right at the beginning. If only he’d never taken the bait Arcturus had dangled so temptingly in front of him.

Thomas scrubbed his hands across his face, forcing these recriminations into the back of his mind. There would be time enough for that later. Right now, he needed to think.

Thomas’ eyes roved across the room, lingering on yesterday’s _The Daily Prophet,_ open on the nightstand. Jimmy must have been looking at the moving pictures, a recounting of the latest Harpies game. Thomas’ eyes fell on the byline—Lonnie Lovegood—and he felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction that Lovegood had landed on his feet after all.

An idea started to form in his mind, stunning in its simplicity.

He had no friends.

But he didn’t need friends.

All he needed were Arcturus’ enemies.

 

~*~

 

After making two Floo calls, Thomas caught the train out of London. He was aware that Arcturus was likely having him watched, ready in case Thomas made trouble. And so Thomas made sure to be seen boarding the train and found an empty car. He pictured the place he wanted to go, focused his magic on it, and jumped.

 It had been years since he’d Apparated and there was one horrible moment when he was quite sure he’d splinched himself, but then with a crack he landed on the white gravel in front of the wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor. Thomas brushed his hands down his black wool coat, assuring himself he’d made it in one piece. The gates were framed with a tall hedge, curving around and shielding the Manor itself from view. Thomas had never visited before—a Muggleborn like him would never have been allowed in the hallowed halls of Malfoy Manor, Thomas thought with a sneer—but the grandeur of the gates did not deter him. He set a hand to the brass knob, and the metal bars of the gates melted and reformed into a scornful, forbidding face.

“What is your business here?” the gatekeeper inquired in a supercilious tone.

“I have an appointment with Septimus Malfoy,” Thomas replied mildly.

The face froze as if it were checking, then slowly melted back into the bars and curling whorls of the gates. With a click, the handle turned and the passage swung open. Thomas entered, crunching smartly up the gravel walk until the path made a wide turn and the Manor itself came into sight.

The house rose grandly above the broad, white drive, its six turrets rising gracefully over three stone stories. Wide windows shone brightly in the front of the house, painting the deepening twilight in warm yellows. A set of double-doors stood guard at the entrance to the grand house, and Thomas could make out carving of flowers and birds, interlocking around a bold letter ‘M,’ the sigil of the Malfoy house. Thomas set his hand to the door and it swung open, a house elf greeting him and ushering him inside.

The grandness of the exterior of the Manor was belied by the shabbiness of the interior. While the drawing room he was lead to was spacious, the stone floors were bare and the furniture, though finely crafted, was not quite large enough to fit the room. Septimus must still be recovering the Manor for the depredations of his father, Delacroix, who Thomas recalled as a notorious gambler.

Thomas waiting for a few minutes before the house elf returned. “Be coming with me, sir,” he said, leading Thomas into another, similarly appointed room. This one was clearly a study; the walls were lined with books and a huge walnut desk dominated the room. Behind it, in a leather wingback chair, sat Septimus Malfoy.

The man had aged from the last time Thomas had seen him. His white-blond hair, always thin, had receded into a distinguished wreath of wiry hair above his ears. His hawkish nose was even more prominent on his gaunt face and his blue eyes, always sharp, still pierced Thomas’ as he met them. Malfoy regarded him for a long moment, making no move to invite him to sit. Thomas, who was used to standing for long periods, remained still beneath the old man’s gaze.

 Finally, he spoke. “Mr. Barrow, I’ve agreed to this meeting only because your claim is so outlandish that I wished to hear it again.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“You claim that Drains exist and that, moreover, Arcturus Black knows of this and currently has at least two in his custody.”

He paused, waiting for Thomas’ affirmation before continuing. “And what proof have you of this?”

“None but Black’s word that he has them in custody, sir.” Thomas raised his chin. “And as for their existence…I saw one with my own eyes.”

It was Malfoy’s turn to raise one elegant eyebrow. “You saw it?”

“I saw _him_ , yes.” Thomas said. “He was the Muggle in Diagon Alley.” He said no more, unwilling to provide Malfoy with more ammunition.

“Yes,” Malfoy intoned. “I heard of that incident.” He sat, considering Thomas for a long moment. Thomas shifted his weight, keenly aware that ever minute he spent here was a minute that Jimmy was being tortured, perhaps even now being killed.  Thomas let none of his impatience show on his face, but it nibbled away at his heart like a rat, poisoning his thoughts with fear and rage.

“And what do you believe that Mr. Black intends to do with the Drains in his power?”

Thomas answered at once, “There are Dark Spells that can performed with a Drain’s blood that can make their use immune to magic other than their own. The spells are ancient and difficult, but their power, once unleashed, could be unimaginable.” Thomas leaned forward a little. “Sir, you know that Black’s ambition is to Minister. If he gains such a power, than his ascension is assured.”

“And I assume you do not tell me this out of a sense of civic-mindedness?” Malfoy asked mildly.

“No.” Thomas’ scarred left hand slipped inside his coat pocket, clutching the wand he’d procured before he’d left London.

Malfoy gave him a thin-lipped smile. “I thought not.” He motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “You’d best sit and tell me your plan.”

 

~*~

The plan was actually simple. Malfoy was a Ministry employee and could help Thomas gain entry to the Ministry. After that, he need only take the elevator down to the Department of Mysteries. He would find Jimmy, and Malfoy would get whatever he needed to bring Arcturus down.

“This object that Black has stolen from you,” Malfoy asked. Thomas had been less than forthcoming about what, exactly, Arcturus had taken from him, though he knew Malfoy suspected that the Drain in Diagon Alley meant more to Thomas than he had said. “You are sure it is being kept in the Department of Mysteries?”

They stood, now, in the Atrium of the Ministry. The Atrium was done in a modern style, in elegant black and white art deco patterns and dark-paneled wood. Even at this late hour, the Floos that lined the wall were active, green flames flickering as witches and wizards emerged to bustle away.

“Yes,” Thomas said. The truth was, Thomas was not sure of this at all. He could think of no other place that Black would house prisoners this important. He hoped he was right, for Jimmy’s sake.

“Very well,” Malfoy said, leading Thomas to a broad, obsidian staircase that spiraled down into the depths of the Ministry. They began the descent and Malfoy leaned closer, whispering, “But if you are caught, I will deny all knowledge of this plan of yours. You will be utterly on your own.”

“Understood,” Thomas muttered.

The Department of Mysteries was nine floors below the Atrium, and all but he and Malfoy has stepped off the staircase onto other floors by then. Finally, they reached a black-tiled landing, featureless and nondescript. A large plaque inset in the wall declared: ‘The Department of Mysteries, off limits to non-Ministry personnel, please turn back.’

Malfoy glided down the dim hallway, lit only by torches set in brackets at uneven intervals. Unlike the rest of the Ministry, this hallway looked quite ancient. Their footfalls echoed strangely on the rough stone floor and the black tiled walls eventually gave way to stone as well. Eventually, the reached a dead end. A large, black door stood closed, no light reaching from beyond it. Thomas felt a deep sense of foreboding as Malfoy reached out, pushing the massive door aside as easily as if it weighed nothing at all. He and Thomas stepped into a circular room, lit with blue witch-lights. As Thomas crossed the threshold, the black door swung shut behind him and he noticed that, from this side, it was completely featureless, containing neither a handle nor hinges. As he looked around, he saw that eleven other identical doors ringed the room and, even and he stared, a grinding noise rumbled through the room and the walls rotated, the black door they had just come through shifting down two spaces.

“What is this?” Thomas asked in alarm.

“A spell, to keep out the uninvited,” Malfoy answered calmly. He withdrew his wand and pointed it at one of the doors. “Best arm yourself. There are dangers here.”

Thomas pulled his new wand from his coat pocket and watched as Malfoy made his way to the first door, swinging it open and casting a Lumos charm to the interior. Over his shoulder, Thomas got the vague impression of a giant vat of liquid, before Malfoy withdrew his head and allowed the door to swing shut. The grinding noise happened again and Thomas, unwilling to spend more time on this than necessary, brought his wand up and cast a quick charm on the door, marking it with a glowing X.

Malfoy nodded approvingly at this, and the room rotated. Malfoy opened the next door, a dark room with a stone archway briefly illuminated by his spell before the door closed again. Thomas marked this one too, and the next and the next.

At the fifth door, Malfoy’s illumination spell revealed a long, narrow hallway that looked like any bare hallway at St. Mungo’s. Except the scream that ripped through the silent hallway was nothing like anything Thomas had heard at the Wizarding hospital. The voice was high, quite obviously female, and contained such anguish that all the hairs at the back of Thomas’ neck stood on end.

“This is it,” Thomas said. He pushed past Malfoy, who followed behind him as they made their way through the dim light, Malfoy’s wandtip lighting their way. The long, tormented scream choked off and then a muffled man’s voice began yelling, “Oi! Oi, what are you doing to her? Stop it, you!”

With a crashing sense of relief, Thomas recognized Jimmy’s voice. His quickened his pace, Malfoy following suit, and they came around a featureless corner and were faced with two doors. Jimmy was still shouting abuse at the woman’s torturers, his voice coming from the door on the left.

“There,” Malfoy said, aiming at the door on the right. “On three.” Malfoy counted down and then cast a quick unlocking charm. The door flew open to reveal a scene so gristly that it Thomas knew that it would haunt him always. Two men stood on the other side, the woman strapped to a blood-covered table between them.

“ _Diffindo_ ,” Thomas shouted, and the spell hit the first man in the chest, knocking him into the wall behind him. Blood welled from the cut the spell had carved in his chest. Malfoy’s Disarming spell pried the wand from the man’s nerveless fingers and Thomas caught the man’s wand handily, turning both of them on the other man. “ _Expelliarmus_ ,” he said, and the other man’s wand flew towards Thomas as well.

Thomas’ eyes slid to the woman, gasping and writhing on the table, obviously close to death and his eyes slid back to the other man. The wands in his hand were steady. “ _Confr_ \--”

“ _Stupify_ ,” Malfoy cried. The other man slumped over.

“Why did you--”

“Because we cannot afford casualties,” he said grimly, wrapping his hand around Thomas left wrist and prying the first man’s wand from Thomas’ grip. “No matter how much their death may be deserved.”

Thomas breathed through his nose, trying to calm his racing heart. His eyes slid to the woman’s now-still form and I he could see was Jimmy, lying there bloody and agonized.

“I’ll take care of these men,” Malfoy said smoothly. “Go, retrieve your friend.”

Thomas nodded, unsurprised that Malfoy had worked it out, and went back out into the hall.

“Jimmy?” he called. The shouting from behind the door stopped.

“Thomas?”

“Jimmy!” Thomas’ spell wrenched the door off its hinges. He hurried inside, his heart clenching with fear at what he might find, to see Jimmy strapped down to a table similar to the Muggle woman’s, but otherwise unharmed. Thomas waved his wand, unfastening the straps wordlessly and, as soon as his arms were free, Jimmy sat up and wrapped his arms around Thomas, clutching him close.

“He said that you’d given me up, but I knew he was lying. I knew you’d come for me. I knew it!” He whispered fiercely into Thomas’ neck.

“Of course,” Thomas replied. He was shaking in relief and tears were stinging his eyes. “I’ll never let them harm you.” He wrapped his arms around Jimmy, tucking him into his body as if Thomas could protect him from all the danger that the Wizarding world threatened for him and his kind. He looked over Jimmy’s head to Malfoy, lingering in the doorway, three unconscious figures bobbing in the air behind him. Carefully, he distangled himself from Jimmy and stepped away, shielding Jimmy with his own body.

“Think,” Malfoy warned him lowly. “That boy is dangerous. Would you really cast your lot in with him against your own kind?”

“He _is_ my kind,” Thomas said back, his voice fierce

He raised his wand but did not point it at Malfoy. Instead, he pointed it to the left and shouted, “ _Expecto Patronum_.” A sleek jungle cat burst from the end of Thomas’ wand. It ran once around the room, muscles bunching and flexing beneath his short silken coat. The cat leaped through the wall and disappeared from sight.

“You’ve a source on the outside,” Malfoy guessed. His voice sounded impressed.

“Yes, at the _Prophet._ ”

“And I assume he will make all of this--” Malfoy waved a laconic hand towards the floating people behind him. “--public, if the program is not ended?”

“Of course.”

Malfoy inclined his head. “And what about Black?”

Thomas smiled evilly. “Oh, Arcturus Black will pay,” he said.

 

~*~

 

The trip out of the Ministry was uneventful and soon enough, but Thomas felt as if he did not draw breath until he and Jimmy were on the dark London street outside. Malfoy had diverted to St. Mungo’s, taking his prisoners with him. Thomas had demanded that the body of the Muggle woman, quite dead now, be handed over to him. Thomas had been uncertain how Malfoy would react to that, but when Lonnie Lovegood had shown up, following Thomas’ Patronus to the spot where they’d paused just outside the Ministry building, he’d been forced to relent.

“Was it—sorry, I mean was _she_ really a Drain?” Lonnie asked him, staring at the woman’s still figure with wide, watery eyes.

“She was,” Thomas said grimly.

“You’re a reporter, aren’t you?” Jimmy spoke up, drawing Lovegood’s pale eyes from the woman’s battered form.

“Pardon?”

“You’re a reporter? Thomas said so.”

“Oh, yes, quite right. Lonnie Lovegood,” he said, holding out his hand. Jimmy took it, but he didn’t give him name back. _Good man,_ Thomas thought.

“Then you’ve got to tell them what’s happened.” Jimmy fixed his eyes intently on Lonnie’s. “You’ve got to tell them how Arcturus Black murdered this woman, so that he could take her blood and do terrible things with it.”

“How…how do you know?” Lovegood asked in a voice that quavered with excitement.

“I heard him. Those men—the ones that that other bloke took away—they were with him. They know what he did. They helped him. He killed this woman and…” Jimmy took a deep breath. “They were going to kill me.”

Lovegood looked stunned. “You’re a—a Drain?”

“I don’t know what you’d call it. I’m just a person. I don’t want to be do anyone harm. I just want to be left alone.”

Thomas had never been more proud of anything than he was in that moment, of Jimmy’s courage and conviction. He reached across the alleyway and Jimmy’s hand slid into his as naturally as anything.

“ _We_ want to be left alone,” Thomas corrected.

Jimmy smiled at him, a warm, sincere smile that melted Thomas’ heart.

Come on,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

 

~*~

It was a few weeks later that Arcturus’ head appeared in Lord Grantham’s fire. It was just after dinner this time, and Thomas had been expecting it for a while now.

Archie looked terrible. Not that he’d let himself go, far from it; his hair was as perfectly coifed as always, but his skin was taut over his bones and dark circles ringed his eyes.

“Arcturus,” Jimmy greeted cheerily from somewhere behind Thomas.

Arcturus’ eyes narrowed at Jimmy before moving to Thomas. “Well Barrow, I see you’ve made your choice.”

“Yes,” Thomas said mildly. His hand itched to go to his wand, hidden inside his waistcoat, but he stopped himself. There was nothing Archie could do to him, not now.

After the incident in the Department of Mysteries, Septimus Malfoy had lost no time in putting an airtight case together against Arcturus. Between him and Lovegood’s excoriating articles, condemning Arcturus Black’s secret, Dark activities, Black had found himself under fire from all sides. Minister Gelder’s last act as Minister of Magic had been to appoint a taskforce to investigate any possible wrongdoing by Arcturus Black and his subordinates at the Department of Mysteries. Even if Archie mattered to hide his activities, the need for an investigation meant he was on his way out of the Ministry.

“You’re a fool,” Arcturus told him.

Thomas looked back at Jimmy, who smiled fondly at him.

“Well, I’ve been a fool for lesser things,” Thomas said pointedly.

Then he took out his wand and, with a flick, extinguished the fire.

 

~*~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Bonus

“Do you ever miss it?” Jimmy’s voice pushed into Thomas’ dozing thoughts. Thomas mumbled something, throwing an arm over the warm, bare chest beside him.

“Thomas,” Jimmy cajoled, poking Thomas’ arm. “Come on, Thomas.”

“Mrmph.”

“Come on,” Jimmy said again, rolling under Thomas’ arm to tuck his head into Thomas’ neck and nibble at his Adam’s apple.

“Mmmm,” Thomas hummed approvingly. “Already?”

Jimmy huffed a laugh. “I’m not that much young than you,” he said. “But this is still nice.” His lips travelled from Thomas’ neck to his shoulder.

“Oh god, yes,” Thomas pulled him closer, inserting a leg in between Jimmy’s so that he could press even closer.

“Answer my question.” Jimmy’s lips tickled across Thomas’ nipple, followed by a hint of teeth. “Do you ever miss magic?”

Thomas put a hand beneath Jimmy’s chin and pulled him up for a kiss. “This is all the magic I need,” he whispered against Jimmy’s lips.

“Sentimental old fool,” Jimmy said fondly and met Thomas’ lips again. For a few languorous moments they lost themselves in each other, before Jimmy pulled back and said, “You could go back, you know.”

Thomas tilted his head to the side, smiling softly at the other man. “No, I couldn’t,” he said. “It wouldn’t be safe for you.”

Jimmy opened his mouth to say something, but Thomas cut him off. “I’ve never had anything before. There were times when I thought I did, like with the Duke.” _Or Archie_ , Thomas silently added. “But now I have something to live for, something to fight for. I’m not about to endanger that.”

Thomas met Jimmy’s eyes, his fingers tracing the outline of Jimmy’s cheekbone. “I won’t endanger you.”

“And I won’t ask you to give up something so wonderful,” Jimmy said. He caught Thomas’ hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

“You haven’t.” Thomas pressed a kiss to Jimmy’s forehead, to his cheek, to his lips. “You never would.”

“Thomas…” Jimmy moaned. His hand scrambled on Thomas’ hip, pulling Thomas up and over him.  Thomas meant, every point of his body pressing against Jimmy’s igniting a fire under his skin. “Thomas, please, I want--”

“Yes,” Thomas gasped against Jimmy’s skin. “Yes, anything.” _Anything for you._

His body arched against Thomas,’ his prick sliding against Thomas’ belly.

“Do it, Thomas. I want to see it.”

Thomas usually refused. But they were quite alone—everyone else had gone to sleep hours ago—and Jimmy’s warm, willing body beneath his was eroding his reason. His shifted over, grabbing his wand from off the nightstand. He didn’t even have to think of a happy memory before he exclaimed, “ _Expecto Patronum!”_

Thomas’ jungle cat burst from the tip of his wand and prowled one around the room, before dropping onto Thomas’ small rag rug and grooming its paws while staring haughtily at the both of them. Jimmy grinned at it, then turned his smile onto Thomas.

“Fantastic,” he said. “You’re fantastic.”

He arched up to kiss Thomas.

Things got rather more heated after that. The two hardly noticed when Thomas’ Patronus faded into darkness. The fire burning between the two of them was brighter and headier than any Patronus.

“Thomas…Thomas,” Jimmy whispered urgently beneath him as Thomas began to move in a slow, sinuous rhythm that drove the air from Jimmy’s lungs.

Afterward, when they were both spent and sated, Jimmy pulled Thomas close, pressing a sloppy kiss to his ear and muttered, “My magic man.” 


End file.
